Early Settlers, by Summer Wilber

I am a Deitz, or was before I got married, and my father’s ancestors have been here for a long time. No, we’re not Ten Eycks, or Schuylers or Pruyns. I don’t think William Kennedy ever wrote about us. Nevertheless, here we are.

My father’s family is believed to have settled here in 1730 in the Berne area, and in 1781 their small settlement was sacked by Tories and Natives. Perhaps you’ve heard of it; it’s called the Dietz Massacre. Captain William Dietz (as our surname was spelled at the time) was captured and brought to Fort Niagara, all the while tormented by the slaughter of his family, “as suspended from a stick were the aged scalps of his father and mother, his wife and the four bloody memorials of his babes, adorned with the half grown hair of their infant heads. These were constantly in his view, and often slapped in his face by the poor untutored warrior.”(1) It is believed that he died of a broken heart.

My father grew up and attended school here; Ben Becker was his principal, the brother-in-law of Kirk Douglas. He has owned a successful pizza business since 1972, and before that he owned a pub. My mother also grew up here, and graduated from Shaker High. When I was growing up on Delaware Avenue in the late 70’s early 80’s, I remember having picnics on our brown shag living room carpet on rainy days. I remember when it was safe enough to put a kiddie pool right on the sidewalk. I remember going to Lincoln Pool on pretty much every hot day because we didn’t have air conditioning. I remember Harry Chapin singing to me at Washington Park, because my mother and I were standing right in front of him. I remember seeing a drunken man fall out of a really big tree during Tulip Fest. I remember eating grilled cheese sandwiches at any number of the diners on the Central Avenue strip; Woothworth’s, the Mayflower, the Charcoal Pit or Jack’s Diner. To my knowledge, Jack’s is the only one that is still there.

When I was six we moved to the suburbs, but when I was around nineteen I returned. I moved into the same apartment in which I started out my life, because my parents still owned it at the time. However I moved to the Center Square neighborhood several years later, after I met my husband. On my wedding day, myself and my bridal party walked to have our hair done at Hudson Hair Studio, and we got married on Lark Street at DeJohn’s (we were supposed to get married in the park behind city hall, but tropical storm Hanna would not allow it). After the ceremony, we walked around the neighborhood to take pictures, then walked BACK to DeJohn’s for the reception. Afterward, we popped into Susie’s up the road for a pint and then took a cab to 74 State to finally crash. It all felt very grassroots to us….so local, so Albany.

I work here. I play here. I live here. I love that I live on a cobblestone street and sometimes can still see a trolley track poking through the pavement. I love looking at old pictures of the city and imagining how it used to be. Legs Diamond, the notorious gangster, was met his end less than two blocks from my home, and I find it fascinating. Whenever someone from out of town comes to visit, I regale (i.e.: bore) them with tales of our city’s wonderful history.

I could go on and on about all of my own little tragedies and triumphs during my time here, but compared to the grander picture they seem rather trivial. I’m in the process of building new memories and history, and I intend to do the majority of it all right here in the city I love.

When the pedestrian bridge was built over 787, my family bought two bricks; one commemorating the Dietz Massacre, another bearing our names. I still haven’t seen them, despite the fact that I’ve crossed the bridge many times to go to Alive at Five or just to enjoy a sunny day by the river. Somehow it doesn’t matter. I know they’re there, forever immortalized in the stone- just like my family.

I am Albany.

Summer Wilber
Lifelong (and then some) Albany resident and fan

1. From “Stories of the Revolution,” by Josiah Priest; first published 1836